Undying Loyalty
by Darth Slaverus
Summary: Binding Blade, Pre-Chapter 3. As Araphen falls to Bern's merciless invasion, Hector must confront the destiny that has awaited him for twenty long years. Rated T for violence.


_Author's Notes: It's the time of year again! Since my girlfriend Blonde Panther wrote me a wonderful Gerik x Marisa fic for my birthday, I figure it's only fair that I return the favour. I've tried to write a non-shipping fic this time, though I'm not sure how well it turned out. This was definitely a lot harder than last year, and I think it shows. Still, I hope BP and anyone else who reads this fic enjoys it, and please feel free to review. Be as critical as you like, criticism only helps me improve._

Before even midday, Araphen burned.

Unable to fend off the massive host arrayed against them, the Lycian defenders were slowly pushed back, then finally forced into open retreat. As they fled into the city, a crimson tide swept through the streets: Blood, fire, and the pursuing soldiers of Bern, who butchered any who dared to defy them. The cries of the dying filled the air, matched only in volume by the triumphant whoops of King Zephiel's vanguard as they raised their liege's banners high over Araphen's exterior walls. A few desperate souls threw themselves at the invaders, hoping to blunt their momentum by engaging them in running battles across the cobbled streets, but they could only delay the inevitable. Within an hour, all pockets of resistance in the city proper had been wiped out, the tattered remnants of the Lycian army seeking refuge inside Araphen's well-fortified castle, Bern's forces not far behind them.

What should have been a protracted siege made all the more difficult by the presence of the Knights of Ostia, whose expertise in static warfare would have deterred almost any attacker, was instead over in a matter of minutes due to Bern's never-before-seen draconic allies. These mighty behemoths bathed the ramparts in flame and smashed through the walls, creating openings where previously there had only been impenetrable stone.

It was Lycia's darkest hour, and Hector, Marquess of Ostia, knew it. He, his elite retinue of bodyguards, and the handful of survivors from the day's vicious melees had sequestered themselves within Araphen's throne room, barring the door shut and preparing to make their final stand. A sombre atmosphere had filled the opulent chamber as the men contemplated their impending doom, yet Hector himself remained oddly calm, his expression almost serene as he paced about the floor, stroking his great beard with a gauntleted hand.

Certainly, he had long ago abandoned any notion of escape- even if such a getaway were possible, doing so would simply hasten Lycia's demise. As the de facto leader of the Lycian League as well as the Marquess of its most powerful territory, running would not only demonstrate to the other members of the alliance that nothing could halt Bern's ruthless advance, but it would also go against everything Uther had worked himself to death for. A secure, prosperous Lycia... Hector refused to let that dream die here. At least if they fought well, they could inspire the remainder of Lycia to take up arms, give them something to rally behind. Besides... Eliwood was the finest knight in all of Lycia, and he yet lived. Gods willing, he would recover from his illness and pick up the torch where he had dropped it.

But grim determination to see Uther's ideals realized and faith in Eliwood's abilities were not the only reasons Hector had not faltered.

He had known this day would come. He had known long ago, before Zephiel had seized power in Bern. Closing his eyes, Hector recalled the words he had spoken that fateful day...

" _You desire strength? Then prepare yourself. Once you have gained such power… Your life will not end in a comfortable bed. You will die on the battlefield. In the savage garden of war's bloody delights."_

"… _I don't care. I will help my friend. That's why I've come this far. Armads! Your power! Lend it to me."_

Despite everything, Hector allowed himself a small smile. He had been so reckless in those days, accepting a violent death without a moment's hesitation. Not that he had ever regretted that decision. Eliwood had required his aid, and that had been all he needed to know.

Still... While he had come to terms with his destiny, he knew that his death would leave a void in Lycia that would not easily be filled. He had done everything in his power to ensure that his beloved homeland could continue without him... Like Uther would have done. Hector liked to think that he had learned something from his brother, at least in that regard. Between the reports of Uther's spies and Athos' prophecy of a great evil rising in Bern, it was obvious that an invasion had been brewing for quite some time, and he had drilled his troops relentlessly to prepare them for the worst.

… But in the end, all his carefully laid plans had been for naught, hadn't they?

Hector frowned suddenly, and cursed under his breath. Dragons! How on earth had King Zephiel enlisted such otherworldly allies? Besides Ninian, Hector had thought he had seen the last of dragonkind on Elibe when he, Eliwood, and Lyn had defeated Nergal and sent Nils home. Had Bern's ruler somehow discovered the Dragon's Gate and reopened it? No... that could not be. Nobody had known of their quest. To the ordinary folk of Elibe, dragons were barely more than a myth...

There was no point in wallowing over it, but Hector could not shake the feeling he could have done something more. No one could have foreseen that Bern would include dragons within its ranks... But could he have done something differently? Blast it all!

Setting his unhelpful thoughts aside, Hector strolled toward a towering knight with greying hair and clad in red armour, briefly extending a hand in greeting.

"Won't be long now, Oswin."

"Indeed, milord." The veteran knight nodded sagely, snapping to attention, his eyes betraying no hint of panic or doubt.

"Have the men form up."

"At once, milord."

"And Oswin?" Hector clasped the older man's arm, giving it a squeeze. "Sorry to drag you into one last mess."

For a moment, Hector could have sworn he saw a grin play across Oswin's lips, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Think nothing of it. Our lives have always been yours." Nothing more needed to be said. Oswin had been one of Hector's most stalwart retainers for decades, and even now his advanced age belied his ability to skewer a foe with the best of them. Of all his allies, it was in Oswin that Hector had confided the truth of his inexorable fate. He would be glad to have the old warrior by his side as he faced it.

As Oswin turned to round up the troops, Hector studied his soldiers from afar. Battered and bruised as they were, they were knights all the same, and he was proud of them. If they felt any fear, they were doing a very good job of hiding it... save one young man quivering in a corner, his blue eyes wide as he shook. Hector immediately approached him, and the lad almost dropped his weapon as he scrambled to salute. Placing a hand upon the man's green pauldron, Hector held him still, employing his infamously commanding voice to great effect.

"Steady, lad. What's your name?"

"L-Lorenzo, milord." The knight looked like he might cry at any moment, as if he were a child being scolded.

"And where are you from, Lorenzo?"

"S-Santaruz, milord."

"Santaruz? I've been there myself. It's a nice place. I knew the old Marquess." Hector leaned in closer, staring intently into Lorenzo's eyes. "Do you want to see it again?"

"I... Yes."

"Then listen to me, lad. It's not so far away." Hector said slowly, jabbing a finger into Lorenzo's breastplate. "It's in here. Think of it as we fight. Think of all your loved ones depending on us, of all your comrades who didn't make it. Remember them, and let those memories give you strength. If you give up now, you show Bern that the Knights of Santaruz will cower before them. But if you fight well today, fear will strike deep into Bern's soldiers when they hear the name 'Santaruz.' Life is fleeting, Lorenzo, but valour is eternal. I speak to you not as your lord, but as a fellow warrior of Lycia. Let us rise and meet our foes united, as our homeland always has."

Whirling to face the rest of his troops, Hector raised his axe high. "That goes for the rest of you, too! Each man here is worth more than any number of Bern's, and I expect you all to kill more than your fair share of Zephiel's toadies! Every man we defeat here will help the Alliance elsewhere! Now, I've never been one for fancy speeches, so what say we show them how it's done?!"

The men promptly erupted into applause and rowdy cheering, though whether it was because it had been a legitimately stirring speech, or because he was their lord and they felt obligated to be polite, Hector wasn't sure. But he suspected that even if he had been clumsy with his words, they knew his axe would speak volumes in other ways. At the very least, Lorenzo had stopped shaking like a leaf, and was moving to join his fellows. Hector followed suit, just as a loud thud echoed from outside the bolted door.

"Here they come!" Gripping his axe tightly, Hector fell into position between Oswin and Lorenzo, his gaze fixated on the door.

"Lyn, Uther... Give me strength. I'll see you soon. I'll give your regards to Ninian, too, Eliwood."

...

...

...

For thirty minutes, they repulsed every attack that came their way. Then, one-by-one, they started to die, until only Hector was left. Lorenzo had taken a sword thrust meant for Hector, sacrificing himself to protect his liege. In response, Hector had cleaved into his would-be assailant's neck, nearly beheading him. Oswin's smoldering corpse lay off to the side; the great knight had been slain when one of Bern's war dragons burst into the chamber, immolating him with a single breath. Stoic to the end, Oswin had not screamed even as he was engulfed in flame, even as his flesh fused with his armour. Seeing one of his dearest companions fall had only served to rouse Hector's legendary ire, and he had fallen upon the beast with a frenzy that even Durban himself would have been hard-pressed to match. Though he no longer wielded the mighty Armads, he was still able to topple the dragon, hacking into its hide with wild abandon.

Now he sat atop its enormous carcass, panting for breath. His armour, his weapon, and his beard were soaked in gore, and he bled from a dozen wounds. Portions of his hair had been singed black by a close call with the dragon's fiery breath, and raw exhaustion from non-stop fighting threatened to overwhelm him. Summoning the last reserves of his strength, Hector surveyed the area around him.

He was surrounded by the dead and the dying, and though it grieved him to see that the last of Lycia's men had been spent, he felt some small relief at the fact they had exerted a bloody toll on their opponents. He was all that was left.

Curiously, though a seemingly unending tide of Bern soldiers continued to pour into the room, they had ceased their assault, maintaining a respectful distance from the Marquess of Ostia. Did they intend to capture him? Over his dead body. Hector was about to leap down and bring the fight to them, when the soldiers nearest the doorframe (the door itself had been smashed straight off its hinges) parted to reveal a foppish, blonde-haired man dressed in varying shades of purple and burgundy. Upon seeing Hector, the newcomer began to clap sarcastically, then spread his arms wide.

"Ah, very impressive... For a Lycian rube, that is." The man gave his hair a toss, then drew a gleaming red sword. "But I'm afraid your exploits here will soon be eclipsed by mine. I am General Narshen, the finest of Bern's Dragon Generals... and you will have the honour of dying by my hand, Hector of Ostia!" Narshen made an elaborate, mocking bow as he issued his challenge, then tilted his blade toward Hector.

The mightiest of Bern's Dragon Generals? Hector knew that couldn't be true. That title belonged to Zephiel's bodyguard, General Murdock, whose skill was known throughout the realm. But then, there was an annoyingly familiar air of arrogance in Narshen's manner... Must have been Erik's Bernish cousin.

"You couldn't beat me on your best day, boy." Hector spat in defiance and raised his axe.

"Hah! I only ever have-"

Hector didn't let him finish. Leaping off the fallen dragon, he rushed straight toward his opponent, who was so startled by the sudden movement that he narrowly brought up his blade in time to parry Hector's initial strike. Before Narshen could think to riposte, Hector released one hand from his axe and slugged his foe right in the face. It felt cathartic, and as a bonus it knocked Narshen completely off-balance, allowing Hector to regrip his weapon and slam its haft into Narshen's chest. The self-absorbed fool proceeded to trip over his own feet as he stumbled backward, leaving Hector looming over him, his axe poised to deliver a fatal blow.

"Looks like the Dragon Generals come highly overrated." Erik, Narshen... These types were all the same. All flash, no substance. But if this man truly was one of Zephiel's Dragon Generals, then killing him would-

Suddenly, an explosion of pain engulfed Hector's left side, and he found himself launched into the air, colliding hard with the wall.

"No...!"

Though his head was swimming, Hector could make out a figure emerging from the throng of soldiers: A purple-haired woman, dressed in a regal uniform of a similar style to Narshen's. In her hand she clutched a green tome, while she offered the other to the fallen general, who rather ungratefully slapped it away.

"Brenya! How DARE you interfere in our duel?! He was mine to kill!"

"I believe you were losing. Rather handily, in fact."

"Grr... He didn't fight fair. If-"

"Regardless, our orders were to capture Lord Hector. Not kill him. Or do you intend to defy His Majesty?" There was an edge to her voice, and Narshen quickly fell silent. Hector tried to stand up, but he couldn't. Brenya's attack had been the straw that broke the camel's back... Try as he might, his strength had fled from his limbs. He could only watch helplessly as the woman gestured to a pair of soldiers, who came toward him, seized his arms, and started to drag him across the floor.

"No... Eli... wood... Lili... I... forgive me..."

...

...

...

Following his interrogation by King Zephiel, Hector was not executed immediately, as he had expected. Instead, he was thrown in Araphen's dungeon and left to rot. However, his efforts in resisting Bern had left Zephiel's host drastically behind schedule, and Bern's main force had no choice but to depart swiftly to continue their subjugation of Lycia. In a stroke of good fortune, this allowed a small strike force led by none other than Roy, the son of Eliwood, to reclaim Araphen from under Bern's noses.

Although Roy arrived too late to save Hector, whose wounds would surely have killed an ordinary man, he lived long enough to warn Roy of Zephiel's draconic allies... as well as impart the knowledge of the weapons that could be used to defeat them. With his final breath, he begged Roy to protect his daughter Lilina, heir to Ostia.

He died not on the field of battle, but in the arms of the youth who considered him a second father. His final thoughts had not been ones of war and death, as Durban had predicted, but rather ones of love.

He had defied his destiny.

He had won.

 _Author's Notes: P.S. Sorry for the lame fight scenes, but I felt it might be more poignant if Hector didn't do a lot of fighting on-screen, to show there's more to him than his rough side (if I might be so pretentious)!_


End file.
